


Solarium de Caritate

by violenttulips



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Drarry, EWE, F/F, F/M, Good Draco Malfoy, Happy Ending, M/M, POV Harry Potter, drarry fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27822667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violenttulips/pseuds/violenttulips
Summary: Harry Potter hates Ministry Events. This is a well-known, indisputable fact. That is, until he and Draco Malfoy get to talking at one, and he's surprised to find himself having a decent time...
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 17
Kudos: 182





	1. Chapter One

_May 1, 2000, Memorial Gala, Ministry of Magic Ballroom Four_

"May we never forget those we lost. Thank you for being here." Blinking into the spotlight and fighting down the urge to vomit, I plaster a fake smile on my face before finishing the speech. "Please consider donating to the War Memorial Fund, as we continue to rebuild."

The room bursts into applause. With a sigh of relief, I make my way off the stage, as someone else wraps up the speeches and starts up the orchestra, asking everyone to clear the center of the floor for dancing.

"That was great, Harry!" Hermione looks stunning tonight in a cobalt-blue gown that accentuates her dark skin and hair beautifully. 

"Really good, mate," Ron claps me on the shoulder. Like me, he's donned a Muggle tuxedo. The attempt to bring more Muggle fashion into the Wizarding World was Hermione's idea. It's actually been working pretty well, and the room is an interesting blend of Wizarding and Muggle formal wear.

"Thanks."

Ron takes Hermione's hand and leads her out onto the dance floor with a jaunty wave over his shoulder.

Ginny presses a tumbler of Firewhisky into my hands, and I give her a wide grin and down it. "You're the best, Gin."

"I know." She grins and kisses my cheek. "That speech was even worse than the last one."

"At least _one_ of my friends is honest," I snicker. "It's not my fault, though. I don't write them!"

"They'd be even worse if you did," she playfully elbows me in the side, then plucks the now-empty glass from my hand and sets it on a tray floating nearby. "Dance with me."

The flashes of several cameras blind us for a moment as we make our way out onto the dance floor. Great. Anytime Ginny and I interact in public, the media immediately starts speculating about whether we're back together and if so, when we'll be getting married.

As we sway together, I smile down at her. "So, how's Charlene?"

Ginny beams. "Oh, Charli's fantastic! She had to work late at the hospital tonight, twelve hour shifts you know, but I'll get to see her when I get home."

"You moved in together?" _That's_ a new development. "That's...pretty serious, Gin!"

She flushes, looking positively giddy. "I _know_."

"I'm happy for you. Really, that's great!" 

"Thanks, Harry." 

"You look lovely tonight, by the way." She really does, in a sleeveless lavender gown that shows off her toned arms and slender waist.

"Trying to win me back now?" She teases, eyes sparkling.

I laugh and spin her. "Absolutely not. You know I'd never do that to Charli, I adore that woman."

It's true. She and Ginny are great together, and our relationship had long been over (for several valid reasons) before the young Mediwitch had swept her off her feet. 

I glance around the crowded ballroom, and my eyes are drawn to a head of long, platinum-blond hair catching the light. Malfoy is talking to someone I don't know, a polite, forced smile on his face. Like Ron and I, he's wearing Muggle clothes. Strange, but the fitted grey tuxedo actually suits him.

As I watch, he excuses himself from the conversation, looking extremely relieved, and heads for the open bar. He pushes his way through the crowd, and I catch sight of a tall, attractive man with dark brown hair and bright hazel eyes and I visibly flinch, my stomach constricting painfully. _Fuck_. 

"What is it?" Ginny glances over her shoulder and cringes. "Oh no. Harry—"

"It's okay. It's...I'm okay. I'm just gonna..."

I drop her hand and bolt. A quick Notice-Me-Not Charm, a wandless Accio as I pass the open bar, and then I'm passing through an archway and darting up a set of stairs, half-full bottle of Firewhisky in hand, looking for a place to be alone. 

Upstairs, I open a set of glass double doors and find myself outside on a small semi-circular balcony. Perfect. I sit down against the wall, just to the side of the doors, and take a deep breath.

I let the Notice-Me-Not Charm fall away as I shut my eyes and drink deeply from the bottle.

A light breeze blows over me, brushing through my hair and over my face. The cool evening air feels incredible, and the tight, painful feeling in my chest begins to ease as I sit, sipping my drink and taking slow, deep breaths.

After a few minutes, I hear footsteps in the hallway and sigh as the doors click open.

"Hiding, Potter?"

Of all the voices I'd expected when I'd heard the footsteps in the hall, his was probably one of the very last. 

I take another swig of Firewhisky. "What's it to you, Malfoy?" 

He smirks and walks out onto the balcony, closing the door behind him. "Nothing, except that this is usually my hiding place during ministry functions." 

I consider him for a second. He really does look good, my slightly drunk mind informs me. Healthy, happy, stunningly attractive...and his long hair—If he wore it loose he would look like the spitting image of his father, but he doesn't. He braids it instead, the plait falling just a few inches past the back of his neck—it really is beautiful. 

"Feel free to join me," I gesture with the bottle, sloshing the amber liquid inside. 

To my surprise, he does. He sits beside me, leaning back against the wall, and holds out a hand expectantly. 

"Well, are you sharing?" 

I pass the bottle over. He takes a sip and pulls a face. "You have terrible taste in alcohol, Potter." 

I shrug and take the bottle back, taking a much larger swallow that burns my throat. "I have terrible taste in _everything_."

He considers me for a moment, but he doesn't press me to say more. It's unexpected, and I'm grateful, and for some reason that makes me _want_ to tell him more.

"I'm hiding from an ex," I murmur, passing the bottle back to him.

"Oh. I saw you dancing with Ginevra—"

"No," I shake my head. "Not Ginny. We're fine. She's...she's great." I hesitate, worried the alcohol has loosened my tongue a little too much. "His name is Trevor."

Malfoy gasps softly. " _His_ name?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't know you were..."

"Bisexual? Yeah, me neither. Well, until about a year ago. But I definitely am."

He hands the bottle back to me and watches me take an enormous swallow, grey eyes flickering over my face, his expression inscrutable.

"Well, _that's_ not made it into the papers yet," he finally says.

My stomach turns uncomfortably, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Why did I tell him that? I should _not_ have told him that. 

"No...it hasn't."

"Your secret is safe with me, Potter." He says softly, in a kind voice I've never heard from him before. I chance a glance over at him, and his gaze is as soft as his voice. "I won't tell anyone."

I swallow hard. "Thanks, Malfoy."

He takes the bottle from me and brings it to his lips but doesn't drink. "So, what did he do to you?"

"He...fuck, I don't—" I bite my lower lip so hard it hurts, turning my face away as hot tears prickle at my eyes. I haven't let myself cry over the bastard. I told myself I never would, that he's not worth it. But here I am, on the verge of losing it in front of Draco Malfoy, of all people.

"Oh Potter, I'm sorry. I didn't realize...it was recent?"

"Yeah," I sniffle, wiping at my eyes before they can spill over before turning to look at him.

Draco has a strange look on his face, like he wants to comfort me but he doesn't have a clue how. Finally, he just puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes.

"You don't have to talk about it."

"I'm still in love with him," I blurt, "even though he...he was kind of a dick. A complete arsehole, actually. I don't _want_ to be with him anymore, but it still hurts to see him and I don't want to talk to him yet. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, surprisingly, it does."

I snatch the bottle from his hand and drain it before holding it in the air. "To my terrible taste." 

Draco rolls his eyes and takes the empty bottle, pulling out his wand and Vanishing it with a spell.

"Chin up, Potter," he drawls, the soft voice gone as he claps me on the shoulder with more force than necessary. "You can only go up from here."

"Harry? Are you up here?" I hear the distinct click of high heels in the hall before Hermione calls out again, closer this time. "Harry?"

I put my finger to Draco's mouth, and his eyes widen.

"Shh."

"He's out here!" Draco calls out, soft lips moving against my finger.

"Traitor," I hiss, and Draco laughs. The sound makes my stomach flutter.

"You might want to take him home, Hermione. He _seems_ pretty coherent, but he's had almost an entire bottle of Firewhisky in the past hour."

"Hey! The bottle wasn't full when I took it, _and_ you had some!"

"Not much." Draco laughs again, and my stomach does a little flip. He stands and holds out a hand to pull me up. I sway a little on my feet. Maybe I _am_ drunker than I realized.

"Thanks for watching out for him, Draco," Hermione smiles at him and I'm startled by the familiarity for a moment before remembering that they actually work together on a regular basis. Hermione _has_ mentioned before that they're work friends now. How did I forget that?

"Of course," he smiles back, pausing at the door and lightly tapping his fingers against the frame. "I'll see you on Monday? Can't wait to take Hemingsworth down a few pegs."

She grins wickedly. "Me too. With the research that we've done? We're going to wipe the floor with him."

"I'm glad we're on the same team now, Granger-Weasley. You're bloody terrifying sometimes, you know that?"

"And I'm glad _you're_ not the complete arsehole you used to be so that we _can_ be on the same team," she retorts.

"Touché," he laughs again and winks before disappearing into the hallway, the glass door clicking shut behind him. 

Hermione walks over to me, setting a gentle hand on my arm. " _Honestly_ , Harry. You can't keep hiding at Ministry events like this. People want to _see_ you. And you know you're going to have to face him some time..."

I can barely hear her, my mind filled with gleaming grey eyes and that deep, throaty laugh that I've never heard before tonight.

"He's really pretty."

What the fuck, drunk Harry? I should not have said that. I shouldn't have even _thought_ that.

"What? _Who?"_

I don't answer her, just glance back at the balcony doors.

"Harry, he's _engaged_ —" 

"I know that! Merlin, I wasn't— I'm not— It was just an observation! A _very drunk_ observation."

Hermione sighs heavily and tugs on my arm. "Alright. Well, good. Let's go find Ron and get you home."


	2. Chapter Two

_ July 1, 2000, Ministry Charity Ball, War Victims Fund, Ministry Ballroom Four _

Another round of applause following another vapid speech. You’d think people would be tired of the sound of my voice by now. 

I walk off the stage and find my friends, idly wondering if I can sneak off to that balcony again. It had been nice to breath freely at a Ministry function for once. And to talk to Malfoy, surprisingly enough. Maybe we could talk again tonight...

I dance with Hermione, and Ginny, and Charlene, and even Ron, Ron and I laughing too hard as we both try to lead to dance properly, before finally making my escape after the four of them pair off and get too wrapped in each other to notice that I’ve left. 

My Accio fails, and I realize Hermione has set up Wards around the bar to prevent me from doing  _ exactly _ what I’d just tried to do. Rude. 

Alcohol-less, but still looking forward to a breath of fresh air and a break from having hundreds of eyes on me has me skipping several steps on my way up to the second floor. 

To my surprise, Draco is already there, sitting in much the same position as last time.  _ And _ he has a bottle of red wine in his hand. 

He’s drinking from it when I walk through the glass doors, closing them behind me. He swallows and smiles. “Evening, Potter. Fancy a drink?” 

“Yes,  _ please _ .” 

He passes the bottle over as I sit down beside him. 

“So, hiding from Hartwell again?”

I give him a surprised look. “How did you know…?” 

“How many Trevors do you know? Especially those who are close to our age and attractive enough to catch the eye of our  _ handsome _ Savior?” Draco is teasing, but the offhand compliment still makes my face heat. 

“Alright, you have a point.”

“I cannot  _ believe _ you dated him,” Draco says harshly. “Absolute git, that man.” 

I can’t help laughing at that. “You’ve met?” 

“Several times, unfortunately. Merlin, Potter, you really  _ do _ have terrible taste.” 

“So I’ve been told,” I agree solemnly, before abruptly changing the subject. I  _ really _ don’t want to talk about Trevor anymore. “Why were you so nice to me after I came out to you? I thought you’d go straight to the press.” 

He looks surprisingly offended by that. “I’m not the same person I used to be, Potter,” he snaps. “I thought even  _ you _ could see that by now.” 

A rush of guilt and shame floods through me, and I clear my throat uncomfortably. 

“I can. I’m sorry, Malfoy. It’s just...hard for me to trust people. A lot of people  _ would _ have gone to the press. Even people I never thought capable of...” 

I let the sentence trail off as my face twists at a particularly sharp memory. Laura. Another ex-girlfriend, right after Ginny. She had refused to let me help pay for her mother’s treatment at St. Mungo’s when she’d contracted a rare magical illness, insisting she didn’t want to be a charity case, but she had had  _ no _ problem taking money from the Daily Prophet to cover the unexpected financial burden… 

“I suppose that’s true,” Draco concedes, drawing me back to the present. 

“I  _ can _ see that you’ve changed, though,” I add, passing the bottle over. 

He takes a large swallow. “I’ll give you another reason, if you can extend me the same courtesy of keeping  _ my _ secret.”

I take the bottle from him and take a sip of my own. “What do you mean?” 

“I…you have to promise to keep it to yourself.” 

Malfoy is going to confide in  _ me  _ now? That’s...unexpected. 

“Of course I will.” I take another sip, watching him curiously. 

“I’m gay.” 

I nearly choke on the mouthful of wine, swallowing and sputtering clumsily. “But...you’re engaged! To a  _ woman!”  _

He barks out a laugh, taking the bottle from me. “I’m aware of that.” 

“But...how... _ why?”  _

He shrugs. “I have to. Pureblood families expect heirs, Potter.  _ Pureblood _ heirs.” 

“That’s awful.” 

“It is,” he agrees, drinking far more than his share of the wine. 

“You don’t want to get married,” I state, stupidly pointing out the obvious.

He turns his head to look at me, and I’m expecting sarcasm and censure for my idiotic comment. Instead, I’m startled by the anguish in his eyes. 

“No, I don’t. It isn’t fair. Not to me, not to Astoria…” 

“What would happen if you refused?” 

“Oh, you know. Complete disowning and disgrace. My inheritance would be cut off, my parents would never see me again...” 

“I’m sorry, Malfoy.” 

Last time, he’d been the one wanting to comfort me and not knowing how, now it’s my turn. I hesitate, unsure how comfortable he would be with being touched by me. 

“I think about it sometimes,” he says softly, drinking again. “What would happen if I _ did  _ break off the engagement. Is freedom worth losing your family, do you think?” 

I swallow hard and turn away, throat catching, unable to answer. 

“I’m so sorry, Potter,” he says quickly, after seeing the look on my face, “that—that was insensitive, I didn’t mean— _ fuck _ , I can be  _ such _ an arsehole when I drink, I just forgot, just for a second—“ 

"It's okay," I say, and I find that I actually mean it after his sincere, stammered apology, "In my mind you're  _ always _ an arsehole." 

I grin in an attempt to make it clear that I'm teasing, and he laughs, leaning over so his shoulder bumps into mine.

“Shut up.” 

“Do you have friends who could help you? You know, like a place to stay, if you did call things off?” 

He sighs. “I don’t really have friends anymore, Potter. At best, I have friendly work acquaintances. But I have plenty of my own money, a steady income from work...I don’t need help from anyone. I will be fine.”

I note his use of the word ‘will,’ instead of the less committal ‘would,’ but decide not to comment on it. 

“Okay...well, good.”

We sit in companionable silence for a little while, his arm pressed solidly against mine, passing the bottle back and forth. 

He sighs heavily. “I just wish someone would tell me what to do.”

I hesitate, making a conscious effort to think before I speak. I  _ really _ don’t want to say the wrong thing here. 

“I can’t tell you what to do,” I finally respond with equal seriousness. “Only you know what’s right for you.” 

“I wish I was brave like you.” He leans his head against my shoulder, and the move is so unexpected I have to fight the urge to flinch away. It feels good though, his warm weight leaning heavily against me, a few pieces of his silky hair that have escaped his plait tickling my chin. “I could have been in Gryffindor, and then  _ we _ could have been friends…” 

“Now I  _ know _ you’re drunk,” I laugh, tugging the empty bottle from his hand and setting it aside. 

He tilts his head up and stares at me, eyes bright, his mouth pushed into a pretty pout. “You really  _ didn’t _ want to be friends with me, did you?” 

“I…” The hurt on his face is disarming. “Maybe not back then, but...I’d like to be friends now.” 

He sighs and lays back down against my shoulder. “I suppose that’s fair.” 

He’s quiet for so long, I start to wonder if he’s fallen asleep and begin to panic, as I don’t quite know how to handle that, until he says softly, “my  _ friends _ call me Draco.” 

“Okay, Draco.” That name sounds weird coming out of my mouth, but it feels nice. 

“Okay, Harry,” he murmurs next to my ear, and that’s even nicer. 

Merlin, this night has been so weird. 

When Hermione comes to fetch me twenty minutes later, Draco is  _ definitely _ asleep on my shoulder. 

“Harry? What’s—?” 

“Shh. He fell asleep.” 

She gapes at me. “ _ What _ is going on with you two?” 

“We were just talking.” 

“And drinking,” A judgmental tone hardens her voice. “Again.” 

“We’re friends now. What better way to spend a party that neither of us want to be at in the first place?” I give her a cheeky grin, just to annoy her. 

She rolls her eyes. 

I shift slightly, carefully jostling Draco just enough to wake him. He startles, lifting his head and looking around, blinking for a second before his eyes sharpen, focusing on my face. “Oh. Sorry, Potter.” 

“Harry.” For some reason, it’s suddenly very important to me that he knows I was serious before, about wanting to be friends. 

“Right. Harry.” He smiles back at me, then looks up and spots Hermione. “Hello Hermione.” 

She looks completely baffled watching this interaction, her eyes darting between us as if she’s trying to solve a complicated Arithmancy equation. 

Draco clumsily uses my shoulder to push himself up to standing. “Did you know Harry gives the  _ worst _ advice, Hermione? ‘Only  _ you _ know what’s right for you.’  _ Honestly _ .” 

Hermione lets out a startled laugh, and then another when Draco stumbles. “Alright, this time  _ you’re _ drunk, and I’m going to make sure you make it home through the Floo safely, okay?” 

“Thanks Hermione,” we say in unison, and she rolls her eyes again. 

“You two are terrible influences on each other.” 

Our eyes meet as Hermione pushes Draco through the doorway, and we exchange a mischievous look, both grinning as she leads him away. 

“Go find Ron and Ginny downstairs!” She calls over her shoulder.

I do, and we make our way to the Ministry Floos together, and then I go home to my empty flat feeling a little less alone than I have in a long time.

***

Two weeks later, I’m sitting at Ron and Hermione’s kitchen table when Hermione brings up my twentieth birthday. 

“I  _ really _ don’t want to do anything big, ‘Mione,” I insist. “Dinner and cake with you and Ron is more than perfect.” 

“But Harry, so many of your birthdays have been so...lackluster. I just want to make sure this one is a  _ really _ good one.  _ Please _ let us throw you a small party?” 

I turn pleading eyes on Ron, who raises his hands and shrugs behind Hermione’s back.  _ Coward.  _   


“Fine,” I concede, because apparently in the face of disappointing Hermione I’m no shining beacon of courage myself, “but just a small one.” 

“Yes!” Hermione pumps her fist in the air. 

“Do you think…” I bite my lower lip, curious how they’ll respond to this request, “would you invite Draco? We’re sort of friends now, and he mentioned he doesn’t have many, and I just thought since you two are friends at work too, it might be nice if…”

“Oh, um, sure! I’m sure he would appreciate that.” Hermione said, right as Ron exclaimed, “Merlin! You two really _ have  _ been bonding at Ministry events lately!” 

“But that would be okay?” 

I don’t miss the ‘look’ my best friends exchange before they turn back to face me with slightly forced smiles. 

“Of course! Whatever you want!” 

***

_ July 31, 2000, Potter Residence _

I’m roused from sleep in the early hours of the morning on my birthday by the tap-tap-tap on glass that can only be an owl at my window. 

Groaning and stretching, I grab my glasses and make my way to the window to let in a very haughty looking owl. It fixes me with a stern look and holds out its leg so I can retrieve the small package and letter it was carrying. I offer an owl treat from the tin I keep on the window sill, and the owl turns its beak up at it, giving me one last derisive look before flying back the way it came. 

I shrug and rip the letter open. 

Harry,

I’m afraid I can’t make your birthday celebration, but thank you for the invitation. Enclosed is your gift. I’ve spent a long time experimenting with the Enchantments to make these work, so you’d better give the other one to someone worthy. Happy Birthday. 

-Draco

Inside the small box are two blank pieces of parchment with the corners folded in, folded into squares, and two Self-Inking Quills, one black, one green. Confused, I stare at them before finally opening one of the quills and writing on one of the pieces. After a few seconds, the scribble on the first parchment appears on the other in an exact copy, and the second parchment glows momentarily. The writing doesn’t start to disappear until I put the quill to the second parchment to write something back. That’s some  _ really  _ complex Spellwork, I’m impressed. 

I briefly consider my options, before making a decision. Tucking one of the parchment scraps and the green quill back into the box, I tie it back up and decide to make a quick trip to the Post Office at Diagon Alley before my party later. 


	3. Chapter Three

_August 17, 2000, Ministry Goodwill Gala, Ministry Ballroom Four_

Another day, another stuffy Ministry party. At least I was spared from giving a speech at this one. The Cooling Charms on the ballroom are failing, and nearly everyone is sweating buckets. Those of us in Muggle clothes with fewer, lighter layers are _slightly_ better off than the people wearing robes—They look completely miserable.

I'm dancing with Ginny again when I finally catch Draco's eye. He's standing off to the side of the dance floor, chatting with a foreign Minister. He smiles when our eyes meet. I incline my head at the archway, and his smile widens. He nods toward the bar and raises an eyebrow. I grin and nod back, and we both go back to the people who held our attention before.

"Harry?" Ginny has a strange look on her face. "What's going on with you and Malfoy?"

"Dunno. We're friends. I like spending time with him at these things."

"Okay, but...you're not getting obsessed with him again or something, are you? Because I don't think that would be..." 

"Merlin, no! C'mon Gin, it's not like that this time. We're actually friends. It's a good thing."

"Alright." She lets it go, but I don't miss the 'look' on her face, either.

I really don't understand why everyone is so worried. As far as I'm concerned, Draco Malfoy and I becoming friends is a bloody miracle and we should just embrace it.

***

"Alright, last time I confessed something. I think it's your turn again."

Draco's voice is teasing, but I decide to trust him with another secret anyway. I like confiding in Draco, I realize. I trust him. That's rare for me, but he'd kept the last secret, and shared his own with me...

"I hate my job." I take a long swig from the bottle—mulled mead this time.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I really _really_ hate it."

"Aren't you in line to become Head Auror in a few years?" 

"Apparently. They're going to promote me to Deputy Head Auror when Weston retires next year, they keep telling me. Then when Robards retires in ten more, I'll be right there...but I don't want it. They won't promote me because I'm the right person for the job," I take another sip, "it'll just be because I'm _Harry Potter._ "

"Who would make a better Head Auror than you?" 

I nearly choke on a mouthful of mead as I laugh, bringing a hand up to swipe across my mouth. "Literally almost anyone else in the department, Malfoy."

He considers me for a moment. "As Head Auror, you could be in line for Minister of Magic in fifteen years. Maybe even less, being you."

I stare at him in shock. "Why would I... Do you _really_ think _I_ should be the one making decisions for the entire Wizarding World?"

"Merlin, no!" Draco chuckles before saying seriously. "But a lot of people do."

"Well, I'm not one of them."

"Then, we're safe. Thank Salazar!" He cries dramatically, throwing his hands up in exaltation.

I elbow him in the ribs. "Hey!"

He just takes the opportunity to swipe the bottle from my hands. 

"You know who _would_ make a fantastic Head Auror? Ron. Ron is great with strategizing, and being organized—well, _mentally_ organized—and he's well-liked and respected by the other Aurors, and he actually remembers people's names, and no one knows the Auror's Handbook better than he does..." 

"Then quit," Draco says firmly. "Before they promote you and make it even harder for you to leave."

I find myself nodding. "I think I will...it's not easy, though, disappointing people."

"Try calling off a bloody wedding," he says softly. 

"Merlin! Is that what you've decided to do?"

He nods. "I haven't told anyone yet, but it's the right thing to do. I feel good about the decision."

I smile at him. "Good for you, Draco."

"Don't say that until I actually work up the nerve to do it."

"And you can say it back to me when I work up the nerve to quit my job," I tease.

"Maybe," his mouth twitches into a little smile. "So, if you _do_ quit, what will you do instead?"

"I don't know," I sigh. "I've been thinking about it lately, though. Do you remember that illicit Defense group Hermione created back in Fifth Year?"

"Of course."

"I...well, I've been thinking I might enjoy teaching."

"You'd be great at that!" Draco exclaims, with more enthusiasm than I ever would have expected from him.

"Really?"

He blushes, giving me a shy smile that makes my stomach flutter. "Yeah, I think so."

"The thing is," I add, "there isn't a position at Hogwarts and even if there was...I think I might prefer teaching younger children. I've been thinking about trying for a teaching job at a private wizarding academy for kids, like the one my godson Teddy attends. I was really impressed when I visited."

He's looking at me strangely, like he's seeing me for the first time, and his eyes are filled with warmth and admiration. It's weird, having someone (besides my close friends, of course) look at me like that for something _other than_ 'being Harry Potter' and 'defeating Voldemort.' It feels more real, more...exciting. 

"I think that's a fantastic idea," Draco reiterates.

"I'd probably need more training or something. I've no idea what I'm doing, or if I'll be any good, but I...I dunno. I like kids. I think I might like it."

"I think you'd be great," Draco repeats, and I feel a glow of pride in my chest at his confidence and approval. "Speaking of Hogwarts, do you remember..." 

This time, when Hermione finds us, we're leaning heavily against each other, laughing our arses off about our school rivalry. 

There had been some sincere apologies from both of us mixed in with the laughter, and Draco had opened his shirt to prove that there hadn't been any scarring from the horrific spell I'd used against him.

He never buttoned it back up, and keeping my eyes off of his smooth, pale, beautifully toned chest and stomach is proving to be an enormous challenge.

Hermione's eyes practically bug out of her head at the sight of us.

"Just _what_ are you _doing?_ "

"Talking!" I cry.

"And _drinking_ ," Draco laughs. "Traditions are important, Hermione."

She throws her hands up. "You two are impossible. I'm not helping either of you tonight. Get yourselves home, you drunk louts."

She storms away, slamming the balcony door shut so hard the glass panes shatter and she has to repair it with magic.

We dissolve back into laughter until she returns a few minutes later, buttoning Draco's shirt for him and dragging both of us to the Ministry Floos to send us home.


	4. Chapter Four

The articles come out within days of each other.

  
HARRY POTTER TELLS ALL: WHY HE QUIT THE AUROR DEPARTMENT AND HE COMES OUT AS BISEXUAL IN EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW

________________________________

Harry Potter tells Quibbler Journalist and friend Luna Lovegood all about the big BIG changes in his life....

I'd decided to go to Luna after quitting my job and get ahead of the media circus myself, and it turned out better than I expected. The Daily Prophet was much less kind to Draco.

MALFOY HEIR: DISOWNED AND DISGRACED

________________________________

Draco Malfoy, who currently works as an extremely successful barrister for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures alongside war hero Hermione Granger-Weasley, has seemingly been able to do no wrong in the past year as he's fought tirelessly for the rights of the tiniest house elf to the entire herd of centaurs that live in the Forbidden Forest of Hogwarts. But now that he's called off his wedding and been disowned by his parents, we're about to see how far he can fall...

I pull out my birthday gift to send my first real message to Draco, beyond the "testing" messages we'd sent to check if they worked, right after he first got his half back in the mail.   
  


You alright? 

No. 

Anything I can do? 

No. 

Good for you, Draco. 

Good for you too, Harry.

The Ministry throws another Charity Ball in September. I find myself looking forward to spending time with Draco again, but instead I end up spending the entire event searching for a head of platinum hair that simply isn't there. Hermione admits that Draco had told her at work that he wasn't sure if he'd be up for being around so many people after everything that had happened. 

I stop by the balcony for a brief visit, but it feels strange sitting up there alone, so I decide to head home early and unusually sober. Back in my flat, I find myself writing another short missive to Draco.

Missed you tonight. 

Sorry. 

You okay? 

I will be. 

Good. 

Thanks, Potter. 

Harry.

What? 

Not Potter. Harry. 

Right. Thanks, Harry. 

Next time? 

Yes. 

***

_October 31, 2000, Halloween Ball, Ministry of Magic Ballroom Four_

  
When Draco Malfoy walks into the Halloween Ball, I'm not the only one to gasp. 

He's cut off all his hair.

Well, not _all_ of it, he still has a fair amount on top of his head and falling attractively around his face, but the sides and back have been cut extremely short. It's not a bad look on him, not at all, but it's definitely...different. 

He's also wearing Muggle clothes again. A black tuxedo with a black shirt and tie underneath, bringing his pale skin and hair into sharp contrast. He's...well, he's absolutely gorgeous.

The realization that I've fallen hard hits like a Bludger to the head. Oh, I am _so_ fucked.

I swallow hard and turn around to find Hermione watching me with a knowing look on her face.

"Don't," I sigh.

"I didn't say anything!"

"Just...don't." 

She reaches out and takes me by the hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Okay. Can I have a dance?"

"Yeah."

Ron and Ginny have been talking Quidditch this whole time and haven't noticed a thing. They still barely notice when we walk away to go dance.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asks.

"Yeah. I just..."

"I know," she grins. "I've known from the beginning." 

"Of course you have."

"I didn't know you actually had a chance, though!" She adds brightly. 

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he was engaged. I didn't know that was going to change, did I?"

"I suppose not."

I catch Draco's eye just then, and the smile he gives me brightens his whole face. The whole room, actually. I miss a beat, accidentally stepping on Hermione's toes.

I wince apologetically. "Sorry."

"Oh, go on," she laughs. "It's alright."

I smile back at Draco over my shoulder and make a beeline for the bar. 

I don't want to go home drunk tonight though, so I go for something different. Butterbeer. I order two bottles from the bartender like a normal person, then make my way upstairs to the balcony.

Draco follows me not five minutes later.

"Butterbeer? _Really_ , Potter?"

"Best I could swipe tonight, sorry."

"I watched you order those, you tosser."

Oops. Time to deflect. "Hey! I didn't come here to be insulted!" 

"Oh?" He gives me a wicked grin. "Where do you usually go?"

"Shut it. I just thought Butterbeer sounded good, alright? Warm. But I'll happily drink yours too if you don't want it."

"Give it here," he laughs, holding out a hand.

I hand him a bottle, nearly dropping it when our fingers brush.

Fuck, I've got it _bad_.

We settle in, side by side, and chat idly about the weather and some Ministry gossip before I finally work up the nerve to ask:

"So, how have you _really_ been doing?"

He tenses slightly, then sighs. "Not...not great. You've seen the articles?"

"Yeah. Astoria seems to be taking it...well."

Draco's parents have been silent in regards to the media, but his ex-fiancée has not. The writers at the Daily Prophet have been having the time of their lives slandering Draco with her quotes. 

He lets out a small, humorless laugh. "Yeah."

Awkward silence again, so of course I have to go and say something stupid in an attempt to fill it.

"I like your hair."

"Thanks."

"Why did you...?" 

Draco shrugs. "Didn't want to look like him anymore."

"Oh...well, you don't."

He gives me a weak smile. "Good. I already miss it though, so I might grow it out again. Not quite as long, but maybe to my shoulders or something."

"That would be nice, too." He could do anything with his hair and I'm pretty sure I would still love it.

We sit in silence for a little while before he opens up again.

"Things are pretty bleak at the moment. I'm stuck at the Leaky Cauldron indefinitely. I can't find a place in Wizarding London that will take me. They're either prejudiced against me for my past, or for my current situation. And Muggle places require paperwork that I don't understand. I can't win," his voice breaks, "my parents don't ever want to see me again. No one except Hermione takes me seriously at work, they just keep making jokes and quoting those stupid articles..."

"Oh, _Draco_." I set my drink aside and open my arms.

He falls into them, burying his face against my shoulder and sobbing softly into my jacket.

I hold him for a long time, awkwardly rubbing his back as sobs wrack through his body.

When he pulls back, he brushes at the wet spot from his tears. "Oh no, I've made a mess of your jacket." 

I shrug. "Like I care."

He laughs. "You really don't, do you?"

"Just a stupid jacket."

"Potter. This is— Oh, never mind. I'm guessing you just let Hermione take you and bought whatever she and the Muggle shopkeeper told you?" 

I can't help laughing at his accurate analysis. "That's exactly what happened. Tell you what, next time you can come with me and tell me what to buy. I'm sure you can find something even more expensive to ruin."

He brushes at my shoulder again, smiling faintly. "It's not really ruined. Just have Hermione fix it with magic later...a good Scourgify should do the trick. And Hermione did a fine job picking it out. This looks really good on you."

"Yeah?"

Our eyes meet, and he licks his lips, and glances pointedly at mine, and...oh. Oh, I'm so tempted. 

But his eyes are still red from crying, and I realize that if something _is_ going to happen between us, and Merlin I hope that something does because I'm completely gone over this beautiful man, it can't be like this. Not tonight, not when he's this lost and lonely and vulnerable.

I turn away, heart clenching painfully in my chest, and pick up my drink. There are a few swallows left in the bottle, and I down the rest of it quickly. 

When I look back at him, Draco's face has gone carefully blank and I hate that. I have to fix this, somehow. 

"Let's go back to my flat. We can have something a little stronger to drink, celebrate this ghastly holiday properly, yeah?"

"What? Not a fan of Hallow...oh. Right. Of course you're not. Sorry."

"It's alright. C'mon. Let's go." 

On our way through the ballroom, I stop to invite my other friends, and quickly turn this impromptu gathering into a party.

Soon, the six of us— Me, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Charli are all gathered in my sitting room, drinking wine and talking and laughing surprisingly comfortably.

Hermione and Draco talk about work, and their latest fight to pass legislation that will ensure that even house elves who don't want to be freed or receive any sort of wage at least get a certain number of days off each month.

"It's not _nearly_ enough," Hermione says loudly, waving her wine glass around precariously, "but it's a start!"

An hour later, Draco's living situation comes up and help comes from an unexpected source.

"Oh, I can help get Muggle paperwork for you," Charlene offers kindly. "Ginny and I chose a place in a Muggle neighborhood and we had to figure it out. You just have to talk to the right person at the Ministry to get your documents drawn up. I have a friend in the office, I'll talk to her!"

"Thank you," Draco says sincerely.

"What kind of place were you thinking of?"

"I don't know," Draco sighs. "Maybe a small cottage or something? I just want some privacy."

"Oh, Harry's _always_ wanted to buy a cute little cottage," Ginny sighs.

I feel my face flame. "Gin! That's—that's not—It's been a long time since we talked about that!"

"I know," she gives me a mischievous look. "I'm just complimenting Draco on his taste in homes, Harry. No need to be _defensive_."

Merlin's soggy...I'm too drunk and tired for this.

"I can help you look for a Muggle place, if you like," Hermione offers, kindly drawing the attention away from me.

"Thank you, Hermione."

An hour after that, I'm summoning blankets and pillows and magically expanding sofas and chairs to accommodate my sleepy, inebriated friends.

Draco smiles up at me from his makeshift bed, catching my hand as I drape a blanket over him. "Thank you, Harry. For everything."

"Of course. There'll be breakfast and Hangover Potion in the morning," I hear myself say, and I brush his hair out of his face, unable to resist the urge.

And then I mentally curse myself all the way as I head to my own bed.

In the morning, Draco is gone before anyone else even stirs, but there's a note on my parchment—

Thanks, Harry.   
You’re a good friend. 

  
After that, things are different between Draco and I. We use our magical parchments to write more frequently, and actually start spending time together outside of Ministry Functions.

Hermione helps Draco find what she describes as "a lovely little house," and the horrible articles about him finally slow down as Draco continues to ignore them, keeping his head down and focusing on his work.

How’s the new house? 

Small, but nice. 

You should paint. 

Paint? 

The walls. It’s easy with magic. I think it’ll help you feel more at home.

Okay.   
  


November 5, 2000

Painting with magic is NOT easy.   
Liar. Come help me.  
This is a disaster. 

Alright, alright. Relax.  
I’ll be through the Floo in ten. 

November 18, 2000

Have you eaten dinner yet? 

Not yet. Why?

Come over. I’m tired of eating alone.

What a friendly invitation.

Shut up. I’m ordering Chinese.

Sold. Be over in five.   
Don’t forget to unlock your Floo this time. 

November 24, 2000

Astoria says you’re a vampire.  
According to the Witches Report. 

That’s new…Merlin.   
They’re just making shit up now. 

I dunno, you are pale and unnaturally pretty.  
Seems like the only explanation. 

Shut up, Potter.

November 30, 2000

The fuck is a “toaster?” 

...Why? 

Ginny and Charli gave it to me as a housewarming gift.  
I’m pretty sure this is some kind of joke. 

Knowing them, probably.  But I can show you how to  use it if you want. 

Okay. Now? 

Sure. 

December 5, 2000

Hermione says I need a Christmas tree.

You do! 

Where does one even get a Christmas tree? 

I haven’t got ornaments. 

Or anything, really. 

Alright, we’re going shopping.   
Be ready in an hour. 

December 16, 2000

What are you doing? 

It’s 2am, Draco. I’m sleeping. 

Liar. If you were sleeping you wouldn’t have seen this. 

You got me. Drinking cocoa.  I couldn’t sleep. 

Nightmares?

Yeah. 

Me too. 

I’m sorry. 

Me too. 

Are you going to the Christmas Eve Ball next week? 

Yeah. 

Me too. 

Are we meeting on the balcony? 

Absolutely. It’s your turn to bring the alcohol.  


Thank Merlin for small favors. And it’s your turn to share a deep dark secret. 

You’re on.   
Night, Draco. 

Goodnight, Harry.


	5. Chapter Five

_December 24, 2000, Ministry of Magic Christmas Eve Ball, Ministry of Magic Ballroom Four_

"So, what are you going to do?" Ron asks, sliding an arm around Hermione's waist.

"Tell him how I feel, I think," I say, smiling nervously.

"You should bring him to the Weasley Christmas party tomorrow!" Charlene bounces on her toes excitedly. 

"Er, I'm not sure...I mean, I don't even know how he feels yet—"

"Don't be dense, Harry," Ginny rolls her eyes. "He obviously fancies you, too. Although you might be right in thinking he may not be ready for a Weasley Christmas _just_ y—"

She cuts herself off, her eyes going wide as she stares over my shoulder, and a second later I realize why.

"Harry?"

Trevor is standing behind me when I turn around, his stunning hazel eyes watching me intently as he holds out a hand. "Can I have this dance?"

I glance nervously back at my friends, who are all looking at Trevor with carefully neutral expressions. Well, all except for Ron, who is glaring at him openly. I can't help feeling a rush of affection for my best friend. Loyal to a fault, and I love him for it.

"Harry, please. Just one dance."

"Fine," I take Trevor's hand and follow him out onto the dance floor.

As we pass him, I make eye contact with Draco, who is frozen in place, his expression a careful mask, eyes flinty.

"Five minutes?" I mouth, glancing at the archway.

He nods, his stance relaxing slightly after I smile at him.

As we dance, I let Trevor lead me, watching him curiously.

He's still as handsome as he ever was, but the thrill I once felt at being held by him is gone. I find myself wondering how I could have ever thought I was in love with him. Everything about him just feels so wrong now.

He'd been controlling, pushy, even manipulative...and to top it all off, at the end he'd cheated. Looking at him makes my stomach turn a bit, but other than that, I feel...nothing.

"Harry?"

Trevor halts our dancing, holding my shoulders in a tight grip, his eyes searching my face. 

"What?"

Instead of answering, he leans down and kisses me. In the middle of the fucking ballroom. At a Ministry function in front of hundreds of people. As if he doesn't know me _at all._ Maybe he never did.

I shove him off, glaring furiously. "What the fuck are you _doing?"_

“Harry, I—“

My eyes flit frantically around the room, and I don't quite realize what I'm looking for until I see it—the flash of white-blond hair disappearing through the archway that leads to the stairs. I didn't see Draco's face, so I don't know if he cares, or if he's just managed to escape in that moment, but either way I need to talk to him.

"I miss you, Harry," Trevor declares loudly. "I made a mistake, but I'm sorry. Why can't we pick up where we left off?"

I'm surprised at the fury that floods through me, at the venom that suffuses my response. "We can't _pick up where we left off_ because _I_ don't miss _you_ ," I snarl as I turn away, drawing audible gasps from several onlookers. "Stay the fuck away from me." 

With that, I take off running for the stairs, only pausing when I've reached the open doorway to the balcony, our hiding place. 

"Draco?"

He's leaning against the edge of the balcony, a single champagne flute held loosely in his hand.

"Shall I offer congratulations?" He asks, without turning around.

"For?"

"You know what for, Harry. I _saw_ you."

There's accusation in his voice, along with what I'm hoping I've correctly interpreted as a fair amount of jealousy.

"He kissed me...I didn't kiss him back," I murmur, watching the line of Draco's back tense. "If you'd stuck around a bit longer, you’d have seen me shove him off and tell him to stay away from me."

I step onto the balcony and close the door behind me, flicking a Locking Charm at it, just in case someone followed me up here.

Draco still doesn't move, so I walk up to the stand beside him, leaning lightly against the stone railing. A breeze ruffles our clothes and hair, and I risk glancing over at his face.

There are tears pooling in Draco's eyes, and I'm simultaneously thrilled and saddened by that. I find myself holding out a hand.

"Dance with me."

He sets his drink down and obeys without hesitation, letting me set a hand on his shoulder and interlocking the fingers of the other with his. He carefully places his free hand on my waist, gasping softly when I pull him flush against me, but quickly relaxing with a sigh.

A warm, content feeling floods through me. This. This is right. This is what I want.

We're dancing cheek-to-cheek, swaying gently to the music that travels up the stairs from the party below. I cast a Warming Charm around us just as it begins to snow.

Light flakes fall, swirling and dancing around the bubble of heat, the light from the door making them sparkle. 

"You're a terrible dancer," Draco teases, voice shaky. 

"Draco," I whisper, my voice coming out deeper and rougher than I intended. I turn my head and press my lips to his cheek, that simple action alone sending a thrill through me and making him shiver lightly in my arms.

"Yes?" He breathes.

"Can I kiss you?"

" _Yes_."

I bring a hand up to his cheek, gently turning his face to meet mine as I press our lips together. Kissing Draco sends both warmth and arousal flooding through me. It's like...jumping off a cliff and coming home, all at once. Exhilarating and terrifying and heartbreakingly perfect.

It's just a soft brush of lips at first, tentative and hopeful and unbearably sweet, over and over, and then the restraint inside me snaps. I run my tongue over his lower lip in askance, and he opens his mouth against mine with a needy sound. I drop his hand in favor of sliding my hands into his freshly cut hair, lightly tugging at the soft strands, and he _moans_. _Merlin_ , Draco.

One of his hands tightens around my waist, the other coming up to stroke the back of my neck as we slow down to explore each other's mouths.

"Draco." I pull back to growl against his lips, "How could you ever think I'd want him, when all I've been able to think about, night and day for months now, is _you_?"

" _Harry_ ," he sobs against my mouth, sending a thrill down my spine. He pulls back to look into my eyes, pressing our foreheads together, panting lightly. "I thought you didn't want me...after last time..."

"I _did_. I just didn't want to take advantage of you. Everything was so fresh and painful, and you were so upset..." 

"Always the noble hero." Draco rolls his eyes and I can't help but laugh and kiss him again.

After several long, perfect minutes, we draw back, beaming at each other. "Can I take you to dinner?" I ask.

"Right now?"

"Yeah, right now. The food at this thing was awful, I'm starving."

Draco grins. "Me too."


	6. Chapter 6

_February 14, 2001, Valentines Day Ball, Ministry of Magic Ballroom Four_

For the first time in over a year, I attend a ministry event with a date, and the media goes _wild_.

Draco looks absolutely stunning next to me. He's chosen to wear the grey tuxedo again, after laughing profusely at me for attempting to wax poetic about how good he'd looked in it that first time he wore it. Honestly, a guy tries for a little romance and _that's_ the thanks he gets. 

The clink of glass shattering and a shriek of fury, followed by shouting in a language I don't understand briefly draws the attention away from us, and I turn to see Trevor Hartwell staring at us in horror, drenched in what looks like red wine. As if his glass exploded in his hand in a burst of furious, accidental magic. A woman standing beside him, also drenched, is screaming at him, but his eyes are locked on me.

A wicked sort of glee fills me as I turn to grin at Draco, reaching out to take his hand, and then the attention returns to us. The camera flashes are nearly blinding, but for once I don't mind answering a few questions as long as Draco keeps a steadying hand in mine and continues to throw adoring smiles and amused smirks my way as I attempt to answer the increasingly invasive questions calmly, if a bit evasively. 

"Harry Potter! Are you dating Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been in a relationship?"

"We've been friends for a while, but we started dating in December."

"Don't you care that he's a former Death Eater?"

"No."

"Aren't you worried he's... _enchanted_ you somehow?" 

Draco chuckles softly next to me, trailing a thumb over my hand and lending a bit of his calm to me. "No, I'm not."

"Why not?"

"I know him. He would never do that."

When the reporters finally clear off, I sag against Draco in relief for a second before he drags me out onto the dance floor. Dancing publicly with Draco is surprisingly pleasant, even though I'm as awkward as ever. Holding him close, breathing in his bergamot cologne as we move to the music. I manage not to step on his toes for a few songs before asking if he wants to get some air. He smiles and nods.

I cast the Notice-Me-Not Charm over both of us this time and, hands clasped tightly, we bolt up the stairs and into the wide second floor hallway. We stop short, dress shoes skidding on the smooth floor. We clutch each other for balance, staring at the blank wall. 

"Wait, isn't this where...?"

"Yeah."

We both glance back at the stairs, then at the wall, then at each other.

"What the fuck? Where is it?"

"I don't know... I don't understand."

We go downstairs and drag Hermione back up with us, Ron, Ginny, and Charli following curiously.

Hermione regards the blank wall with a calculating look. "I suppose it could be magical, only appearing when needed...not unlike the Room of Requirement. That would explain why the press has never followed you out there, but I found you just fine, if it can somehow recognize intent..."

I turn to Draco. "Well, you've used it longer, you said it was your normal hiding place for Ministry..." I trail off as he flushes, looking guilty.

"That...um, that may have been a lie," he bites his lip, then laughs at my outraged expression. "What? I wanted to talk to you! I saw my chance to get you alone and I took it!"

I can't hold back a laugh of my own. Merlin, I _really_ want to kiss him right now.

He must be able to read it on my face, because he loudly informs the others, "alright, everyone clear off. Harry's going to snog me senseless against this wall for a minute, and then we'll join you back downstairs."

I feel my face heat, but I can't disagree with him, even as Ron sputters awkwardly and Ginny and Charli chortle, while Hermione can't seem to decide between the two reactions and hovers somewhere between them, smiling awkwardly. Ginny spurs the other three into action, herding them toward the stairs and shooting us a conspiratorial wink over her shoulder.

When they're gone, Draco gives me a look that's pure mischief, immediately stepping close. "Does your ban on public displays of affection apply to empty upstairs hallways, Potter?"

My heart stutters in my chest. "I'm not sure it even applies to you at all," I mutter, and his smile widens into a truly devious grin.

He sets a hand on my chest and leans in, "I'm _very_ pleased to hear that, darling."

Five minutes into a kiss that has spiralled completely out of my control—I mean, I certainly have no memory of placing my hands on Draco's bum, and yet, here we are—the flash of a camera startles us apart. The photographer bolts back down the stairs before I can react, before either of us can even get a good look at their face.

"Ah, fuck."

"I guess we should have expected that," Draco chuckles, attempting to smooth his hair.

His lips are swollen. I brush a finger over them, wandlessly and wordlessly casting a Soothing Spell to remove any evidence of debauchery.

"Show off." Draco rolls his eyes, but the besotted smile on his face steals any bite from his words.

I give my own mouth the same treatment while Draco hits our clothes with Anti-Wrinkle Charms.

I send him a besotted grin of my own. "Presentable?"

"You _never_ look presentable," Draco teases, darting out of reach before I can grab him.

"Hey!"

He bolts toward the stairs, and I chase after him, catching him at the top and hooking an arm through his before we walk down slowly, the picture of grace and propriety, although the Daily Prophet tomorrow will most likely prove otherwise.

We spend the rest of the evening dancing and laughing with the people who are now _our_ friends, not just mine, determinedly ignoring the stares and whispers and indiscreet camera flashes pointed our way.

As the evening is winding down, Draco pulls me close and presses a kiss to my ear, murmuring, "Let's go back to yours tonight, Harry." The low rasp in his tone leaves no room for misinterpretation, and my body responds immediately.

"Are you sure?"

He smiles and kisses me on the cheek. "I'm sure, darling."

"Let's go."

We rush from the room after bidding our friends a hasty 'goodbye,' fingers laced together, laughing at ourselves as we run for the Ministry Floos. 

We stumble through my Floo, mouths coming together in a fierce kiss, and everything else disappears for a little while.

***

Waking to a warm, sleepy, naked, _gorgeous_ Draco Malfoy in my bed is quite possibly the best thing I've ever experienced.

He lets me kiss him, soft and slow, whispering a sleepy, 'good morning,' before tucking his head under my chin and promptly falling right back to sleep.

I don't mind. After several months of friendship followed by nearly two months of dating, I'm already well aware that Draco isn't a morning person. Although I haven't witnessed it up close quite like this before.

I let my hands trace over the smooth, sleep-warmed skin of his back for another hour before he finally starts to stir again.

"I was thinking of running around the corner for some of those chocolate pastries you like for breakfast," I murmur, "and some coffee. Does that sound good?" 

"Mmhm," he agrees, eyes still closed.

He makes a soft sound of distress when I climb out of the bed to get dressed, and I laugh and press a kiss to his head. "I'll be right back."

"Hm."

I slip from the room, tugging my boots on and shaking my head in amusement.

Draco wakes up pretty quickly when I return and the delectable scents of breakfast reach him.

I plop down on the edge of the bed to take my boots off, as he sips at his coffee.

"Fuck, that's good, darling," he croons into the cup. "I love—" he cuts himself off, cheeks flushing pink, "—coffee and chocolate pastries," he finishes awkwardly.

With a laugh, I crawl up the bed and kiss him.

"I love coffee and chocolate pastries, too."

He smiles and cups my cheek as he presses his lips to mine again. "Good to know."

Even though neither of us is ready to say the real thing _just_ yet, we both know we're getting there, and I'm not finding that realization nearly as terrifying as I probably should. 

***

"Mate?" Ron's voice calls from the fireplace a few hours later.

I press one more kiss against Draco's lips and disentangle myself from him. "Be right back."

He watches, eyes soft, as I tug on a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt and snatch my glasses from the bedside table. "Just a sec!" I call out to Ron.

He grins at me through the Floo. "Good night last night?"

I feel the color rising on my cheeks as I sputter, "Er, yes, um, very good."

"He still here?" Ron laughs at the expression on my face as I glance at my bedroom door. "Oh, he's still in your _bed!"_ Ron snickers, then shouts: "Get dressed and get out here, Malfoy! You're going to want to see this!"

I'm pretty sure my face is Gryffindor crimson at this point, but it goes even brighter when Draco exits my room in nothing but his boxers and another of my old t-shirts, hanging loose on his slender frame.

"I'm going to come through, okay?" Ron asks.

"Sure."

Ron steps through the fire, cringing at Draco's choice of clothes. "You couldn't have put on some trousers?"

Draco's patented wicked grin is answer enough, but he responds anyway. "No, Weasley, I _couldn't_. What did you drag us out of bed for?"

Ron wrinkles his nose but passes over the morning edition of the Daily Prophet I hadn't noticed he'd had in his hand.

Draco snaps it open and Ron grins. Curious, I move to stand beside Draco, reading with him.

A huge photo of our less-than-chaste kiss is plastered on the front page, surrounded by smaller photos of us from the Ball, dancing, laughing, Draco's hand on my cheek, an embarrassingly soppy look on my face...and a title that reads:

POTTER-MALFOY ROMANCE!

________________________________

Readers, you heard it here first! According to their friends, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy's budding romance began nearly two months before they came out publicly at the Ministry of Magic Valentines Day Ball last night.

Hogwarts classmates probably remember the intense feud the two young men engaged in during their school years, but Hermione Granger, Potter's close friend and Malfoy's coworker, insists that that is all over now. "Draco has changed since school," she insisted, "and he and Harry are good together."

When our reporter expressed concern that Malfoy could be enchanting Potter somehow, Potter's ex-girlfriend Ginny Weasley, of all people, came to their defense, insisting that if anyone were doing that to Harry his closest friends would know, and she would hit them with a Bat-Bogey Hex so powerful it wouldn't clear up for days.

"Malfoy is okay now," Ronald Weasley, Potter's best friend, put it succinctly, "just trust us on that."

Trevor Hartwell, a man who claims to be Potter's first-ever boyfriend, was visibly shaken by the couple's entrance, shattering a glass of wine all over the Swedish Ambassador's wife and causing quite the scene, insisted that it won't last, at which point Ginevra Weasley drew her wand and the young man refused to comment further, presumably out of fear of Weasley's infamous aforementioned Bat-Bogey Hex.

Readers might remember a brief article published after the Christmas Eve Ball two months ago, at which several witnesses claimed to have seen Hartwell kiss Potter, and Potter reacting negatively to the unwanted advance. While this may confirm Hartwell's claim of being Potter's ex-lover, it doesn't lend any evidence toward his claim that Potter will 'come running back to him when he's finished with Death Eater filth and realizes what he's lost.'

Perhaps Potter reacted negatively to Hartwell's kiss because his heart was already claimed by the notoriously reformed ex-Death Eater, Draco Malfoy. According to Potter's friends, that's exactly what has happened.

Perhaps they're right, and Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, has finally found happiness in the arms of his childhood rival. Only time will tell.

Draco and I finish reading at nearly the same time, and lift our heads to gape up at Ron, who is still grinning.

"Not too bad, is it?"

"After all the articles about me a few months ago, I was expecting..." Draco swallows hard, shaking his head. 

"They interviewed us all after you left, suspiciously early by the way, wasn't too hard to guess what the two of you had on your minds last night—"

Draco's mischievous grin returns.

"—and Hermione thought it might be a good idea to give the reporters the right, erm, _direction_ , for their article."

"She threatened them?" I ask, incredulous. 

Ron's grin grows impossibly wider. "Just a bit."

"Clearly not enough," Draco comments, still staring at the newspaper, "what the fuck does 'notoriously reformed' even mean?"

Ron shrugs, while I burst out laughing. From relief, mostly, if I'm being honest. For once, the Daily Prophet has printed an article about me that doesn't make me want to burn the entire establishment down. Although I _do_ have the urge to hit my ex with a Stinging Hex to the crotch the next time I see him.

"I don't know," I laugh, wrapping an arm around him and tugging him close. "But it could have been a lot worse."

He gives me an unbearably hopeful, heart-wrenching look. "Yes, it could have. The way they've framed it, people might actually be accepting, they might..."

"Well, I just wanted to share the good news," Ron says with a clap on my shoulder. "I'd better be off before you two start...snogging again. Right. That's my cue to leave. Hermione said to invite you to dinner on Wednesday! You know what, I'll have her owl you."

He hurries back through the Floo, as Draco tosses the paper aside and deepens the kiss, pressing up against me in a way that seems to short-circuit my brain.

Dinner...when? Never mind, Hermione will owl us.

***

A few days later, we find ourselves over at the Granger-Weasleys for dinner and to learn what Hermione has found in her research.

We've been a bit too...er, _preoccupied_...to do any research ourselves.

"Solarium de Caritate," Hermione says as soon as we sit down, smiling broadly. "I found it!"

The rest of us just stare at her blankly, waiting for more information.

She opens a large book on the table and points to a page. " _The Ministry of Magic: A History_ ," she explains, "The terrace of love. _Solarium de Caritate_ is a complex bit of Architectural Magic, designed to bring people together. Lost souls looking for love, or something. Very sentimental magic, and very unreliable. I was right, it does work a bit like the Room of Requirement. It draws people to it like moths to a flame, two people who already have—who are already—you know, compatible, interested, pining for each other, whatever—and continues to draw them together until they finally admit their feelings and then the Solarium goes dormant for awhile until its magic is activated again. Apparently, some Ministry employees decided to create one above the ballroom in the 1800's, most likely hoping to find their own "true love" as a result." 

"Wait, I wasn't _pining_ –"

"I wasn't pining for _Potter_! Honestly, Hermione!"

Hermione bites her lip over a smile.

We laugh and glance down at our intertwined hands before making eye contact with each other.

"Alright, maybe...I still wouldn't say _pining_ , but I was, I mean, _we_ were interested, I guess. Right?"

"Speak for yourself!" I give Draco a skeptical look until he sullenly concedes. "Fine. Maybe just a bit."

I kiss him firmly on the mouth for that. 

"Oi! No kissing at the dinner table!" Ron shakes his head. "You two are nauseating. I'll kick you out, I swear."

We laugh, but stop for his sake, attempting to look appropriately contrite. Draco's exaggerated frown isn't very convincing. 

"Please forgive us, Ron," he pleads, eyes comically wide. "We're very sorry."

I kiss him on the cheek, undermining the apology altogether.

Ron snorts into his drink. "See what I mean? Nauseating." He turns to his wife. "When will Gin and Charli be here?"

***

"Solarium de Caritate," I murmur when we're settling into bed that night, pulling off my glasses and tossing them on the night table. "That's sort of romantic, huh."

Draco cuddles up against me with a yawn, setting a hand on my chest and burying his face against my shoulder. "I suppose."

"I mean, if we didn't...where would we be if we hadn't started talking at Ministry functions last year? If we hadn't had that place to go...?"

"Miserable," Draco responds immediately, "completely miserable."

"And what are you now?" I ask with a smile, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it anyway.

"Happy," he sighs, tilting his head up and pressing a kiss to my cheek. "Completely happy."

I lace the fingers of my hand through Draco's hand resting on my chest, letting the warmth of his words and the contentment I feel settle over me.

"Me too."


	7. Epilogue

_September 19, 2004, Malfoy-Potter Residence_   
  


"Harry, darling? Have you seen my tie? The cornflower blue one?"

"It's in the dry cleaning bag in my closet! Sorry, forgot it was still in there." 

I rub a towel over my wet hair as I exit the bathroom, another towel wrapped around my hips.

Draco is pulling on a white button-down shirt, his previously-missing tie now draped over his neck. My eyes fall on the love bites below the collar, marking his pale skin. My handiwork, of course. He's only healed the ones that are visible above his shirt, and _that_ makes me smile. Merlin, he's beautiful.

He finishes buttoning the last button at the collar and begins tying his tie, slender fingers making quick, precise movements as he watches himself in the mirror.

"Draco?"

He glances up at my expression and laughs. "Absolutely not. We'll be late."

"But—"

He walks over and trails a hand down my bare chest, eyes soft and amused. " _After_ , darling."

I pull him into a kiss, hands shamelessly groping at his arse over his favorite pair of grey trousers. "No one will care if we're late. The Weasleys don't really stand on ceremony, you know that." 

" _I_ care."

"We're newlyweds. People expect us to be late to everything."

"That is _completely_ uncouth, Mr. Malfoy-Potter." Draco arches a brow and fixes me with a stern look, holding up a finger between us. " _After_." 

He extricates himself from my loose hold, kissing my cheek. I catch his left hand, pressing the shiny gold ring on his finger to my lips and giving him my very best puppy dog eyes.

"Remember, we have dinner with my parents tomorrow."

Well _that's_ a mood killer if I've ever heard one.

"Right."

He grins. "Come on, it won't be so bad."

"It _will_ , but I'll go. For you." 

"That's the spirit. Get dressed. I'll meet you downstairs," he orders, softening the harsh tone and the retrieval of his hand with a fond smile.

When I make my way downstairs, he's waiting by the fireplace, tapping a foot impatiently.

When I reach him he gives me a long, sweet kiss, holding me by the lapels. He pulls back, straightens my tie, and gives me one last kiss before declaring me fit to leave the house.

And then we're off to meet our friends.

***

_September 19, 2004, Celebratory Birthday Dinner, The Red Sphinx Restaurant_

"To Hermione, twenty-five years old and the youngest Department Head in a century!" Ron crows.

"To Hermione! Happy Birthday!" Our small crowd of friends call out, raising their glasses. 

I glance over at Draco, and find him already looking at me, his eyes shining.

I lean over and catch his free hand, squeezing it tightly as we drink to Hermione.

" _I love you_ ," I mouth over my glass.

 _"I love you, too,_ " he whispers back, squeezing my hand again, but not letting go, as we turn our attention back to the many conversations happening around us at the table. 

And I marvel once again at how perfectly content I am with my life.

It’s been four years since our first kiss, followed by a sweet Christmas Eve first date. Four incredible, messy, perfect years together. 

We're surrounded by friends.

I have my dream job teaching five-year-olds to read and write and add sums and fly practice brooms, sometimes all at the same time. 

Five-year-olds who are far more interested in snack time than anything _I've_ ever done, who roll their eyes at their starstruck parents, because, "it's _just_ Mr. Potter, Mum. He wears glasses and he forgot the words to our alphabet song last week, he's a _complete_ dork, stop looking at him like that." 

Honestly? I've never felt more properly _seen_ in my entire life.

And, best of all, I'm married to this gorgeous, snarky, stylish, sarcastic, absolutely perfect man.

I truly can't imagine anything better.


End file.
